No Place Like London  Sweeney ToddHetalia 3
by BritanniaAngelique
Summary: Sweeney Todd   England  Anthony   Lithuania  Mrs. Lovett   America  Judge Turpin   Russia  Lucy   France  Beadle   Prussia  Mr. Jones and Sweeney talk about the old shop.


"Haunted?" Sweeney questioned, his bow furrowing.

"Who's to say they're wrong?"

There was a barber and his wife. And he was beautiful. A proper artist with a knife. But they transported him for life.

Mr. Jones began softly, with a sigh.

And he was beautiful.

He gazed at Sweeney, with an intense, yet soft glare.

"Kirkland was his name. Arthur Kirkland." Mr. Jones stated quietly to Mr. Todd.

"Transported him? What was his crime?" Sweeney questioned, knowing full well.

"Foolishness."

He had this wife you see. Pretty little thing. Silly little nit had her chance for the moon on a string. Poor thing.

Mr. Jones looked to the light glow of the fireplace.

_Poor thing_.

Sweeney gazed at him, his brow furrowed, and lips stiff.

There was this judge, you see. Wanted her like mad. Every day he'd send her a flower, but did she come down from her tower? Sat up there and sobbed by the hour. Poor fool.

Sweeney's listless eyes searched through the solemn ones of Mr. Jones, as he retold the story of his wife's demise, unknowingly.

Ah but there was worse yet to come! Poor thing.

Mr. Jones recounted, speeding up the pace, and mood slightly.

The Beadle calls on her, all polite. Poor thing, poor thing! The judge he tells her is all contrite, he blames himself for her dreadful plight, she must come straight to his house tonight! Poor thing, poor thing!

Sweeney's breathing began to get heavy.

Of course when she gets there, poor thing, poor thing. They're this ball all in masks. There's no one she knows there, poor dear, poor thing. She wanders tormented and drinks, poor thing! The judge has repented, she thinks, poor thing. "Where is Judge Braginski?" She asks.

Mr. Jones looked Sweeney in the eyes.

_He was there all right. Only not so contrite!_

He spat with an edge.

_She wasn't no match for such craft, you see. And everyone thought it so droll. They figured she had to be daft, you see, so all of them stood there and laughed you see! Poor soul! Poor thing!_

Mr. Jones cried out, pushing Sweeney over the edge.

"No!" Sweeney shouted, exploding off of the couch, standing there, breathing hard. "Would no one have mercy on her?"

Mr. Jones stood. "So… It is you. Arthur Kirkland."

"Where's Francis? Where's my wife?" Mr. Todd questioned, panting.

"She poisoned herself. Arsenic, from the pharmacy. I tried to stop her. But she wouldn't listen to me. And… He's got your daughter." Mr. Jones said, looking at Sweeney coldly.

"He? Judge Braginski?" Asked Mr. Todd.

"Adopted her like his own." Said Mr. Jones.

A look of disgust covered Sweeney's face, as he pondered the news, letting it set in.

"Fifteen years of living in hell, on a false charge. Fifteen years, dreaming that I might come home, to see my wife and child…" He began, trailing off, as Mr. Jones stepped closer.

"I can't say all those years have been too kind to you, Mr. Kirkland.." Mr. Jones said, being interrupted by Mr. Todd.

"No. Not Barker. That man is dead. It's Todd now. Sweeney Todd. And he will have his revenge." Sweeney proclaimed, a look of madness slightly glazing his pale visage, as he stared into the fire, without a blink. Mr. Jones looked on, slightly frightened, but high intrigued.

"The Judge and Beadle will pay for what they did."

Sweeney turned sharply to face Mr. Jones.

"But first, I must have my shop back."

Mr. Jones took Sweeney out of the pie shop, leading him up the outer staircase, which led to his old shop. It had remained untouched all these years.

"Come along.." He said, unlocking the door.

Mr. Jones opened the door, with a loud creak, and stepped inside, the inside of the shop dark, and dusty. The walls were covered in a thick layer of dirt, and spiderwebs. Mr. Jones looked at the door.

"Nothing a little oil won't fix." He said, then turning to Mr. Todd. "Come on, sir. Nothing to be afraid of. Come in."

The two stepped inside, looking around the room. Mr. Jones then went to one of the floorboards, hitting it, and then lifting it. Slowly, he pulled out a small package wrapped in red cloth. Carefully, he unwrapped it, dusting it off, and walking over to Todd with it. The lather case was old, and somewhat beaten, but had a certain nostalgic quality to it.

"I don't believe it…" Sweeney said, taking the case and opening it.

"When they came for the girl, I hid 'em. I figured maybe someone'd come for them. Cracked in the head, wasn't I?" He said, with a slight chuckle.

Sweeney revealed the silver knives, which shone in the light.

"Those handles is chased in silver, ain't they?"

"Silver…. Yes…."


End file.
